Viva La Vida
by Shally-wa
Summary: Imprisoned in Nurmengard, Gellert looks back on his past and makes a final decision. Set mainly during DH before his murder by Voldemort, with flashbacks to 1899-1945. Songfic to Viva la Vida by Coldplay. Mild AD/GG slash, T for events and to be safe.


My first attempt at writing Grindelwald. _"They say he showed remorse in later years…"_ Of course, I apologize fully if he seems too remorseful and redeemed in this story. I have no experience writing from Dark perspectives, so I'm not sure how well it worked. However, hope that his character was consistent at least in this backstory.

I own neither the title, the lyrics, the characters, nor the (canon!) pairing. So basically, nothing at all. Operating on a "Don't sue, don't sell" basis.

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**Viva La Vida**

_I used to rule the world  
__Seas would rise when I gave the word  
__Now in the morning I sleep alone  
__Sweep the streets I used to own_

Gellert Grindelwald, former magical dictator of most of the Continent, scowled as he paced the short distance between his pallet and the thin, barred window in the tower cell of Nurmengard Prison. The evening sky glowed a brilliant, almost unnatural orange over the black stone buildings before him.

In years past, they might have held prisoners, those who dared speak against his regime. Now all that remained of those prisoners were the few, scanty ghosts that had chosen to haunt the site of their death.

There had been other prisoners as well, but those too were gone. Of those imprisoned after his fall in 1945, only Gellert himself remained. The others were gone, by suicide, old age, or general frailty. The guards had joked when he had celebrated his 115th birthday that he stayed alive out of spite. Needless to say, they'd made similar taunts when Albus had died.

He glanced around again. The open yard was deserted, except for a few guards who had nothing better to do.

It had all gone so well at the beginning. Where had it gone wrong? What trick of fate had left him _here_, in a prison of his own making?

_I used to roll the dice  
__Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes  
__Listen as the crowd would sing:  
__"Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"_

He had risen to power after the November Revolution. The magical community had been in disarray after the Great War. Many had been eager to establish a powerful Wizarding state—something especially urgent after far too many wizards pressed into service had died fighting the Muggles' war.

The German Ministry had capitulated easily. It had been in decline for years, and did not have the willpower or resources to fight such a popular movement.

With little violence, he had captured the ministry with his supporters' assistance. It had been a rush like nothing else, he recalled, standing in front of a cheering crowd of his supporters, assuring them that a new age of Wizarding power and stability had indeed dawned.

His first act after declaring his regime had been to carve the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, along with his slogan, "The Greater Good," into the wood over the entrance to his office. "Grindelwald's Mark," that was what they called it now. But its meaning had been so much different then. Even though he had only held the Elder Wand, would only ever hold the Elder Wand, he still had not given up on his quest for the Hallows just yet.

_One minute I held the key  
__Next the walls were closed on me  
__And I discovered that my castles stand  
__Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand_

The Elder Wand…

He could still remember clearly the day he had acquired it. It had been a cool October evening not long after he had fled Godric's Hollow. Based on the information he had gathered at his great-aunt Batty's house, combined with long-standing rumors about the dour, reclusive wandmaker, had helped him to trace the Elder Wand to Gregorovitch.

After multiple attempts, disguised, to glean its hiding place, he had finally worked out an almost foolproof strategy for capturing the wand. Disillusioned, he crept quietly up to below the window of Gregorovitch's workshop. Carefully, he had clambered up the wall to just below the ledge and removed the charm. When sounds had indicated that the wandmaker had left his bench, Gellert had crept over the ledge and surveyed the empty room.

The workbench had been cluttered with wands in various stages of completion. He had scanned the array for a few minutes before focusing on a slightly glossy black wand that looked much older than the rest. As soon as he had picked it up, he had known it was the one. Just holding it gave him a sense of great power.

The sound of footsteps had interrupted his reverie. He had glanced up just in time to see Gregorovitch entering the room. At first, he had been afraid, but remembering that he now held the Elder Wand, he had quickly recovered. Laughing with his triumph, he had shot a stunner at the elderly wandmaker before dropping backwards out of the windowsill.

He had landed lightly, with the aid of a Cushioning Charm. He had spent a few minutes just staring appreciatively at his new wand.

The discovery of the Elder Wand had energized his Hallows quest for over 20 years. After countless failures, the demands of his empire had become too great to continue his mainly fruitless quest.

Eventually the demands of his empire itself had proven too much and it had collapsed around him. As the Muggles were pressing toward him in their own war, Albus had finally come to challenge him.

_I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing  
__Roman Cavalry choirs are singing  
__Be my mirror my sword and shield  
__My missionaries in a foreign field _

Albus had come on a stormy day in November. Gellert had sensed this was coming for a while.

They had gone to an abandoned field a few miles away from Nurmengard. The pain in Albus' eyes as he stood there had mirrored the regret Gellert knew must be in his own.

Before the battle commenced, he had tried to make amends, somehow. "Albus…" he had begun, but the older man had cut him off.

"Gellert, don't." His voice was sad and heavy.

"So then it must end this way?" he had replied. Albus had nodded, saying nothing.

The battle had been positively vicious. Had they fought any nearer to Nurmengard, it would have surely been destroyed by the powerful magics that had been used. They had been evenly matched… they always had been.

Over time though, the Elder Wand began to prevail. The greater power was beginning to wear on Albus. Then after one round of curses and countercurses he staggered, nearly falling. Gellert could have easily finished him then… but he hesitated. Was this what it had come to? Must one of them die so that the other would survive?

"No…" he had murmured, and stopped dead in his tracks. The Elder Wand fell from his now-slack right hand.

Albus stared at him for nearly a full minute before scrambling over to where the wand lay. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, questioning Gellert with his eyes.

Whatever the question was, Gellert had been sure his silence had answered it. Albus had hastily scooped up the Elder Wand, simultaneously casting ropes out of his original wand. Watching it, Gellert had suddenly recalled how Albus had described his wand:

"_11 inches, cherry, with a phoenix feather. It was the last extravagance my family ever had, before Ariana… Aberforth used my father's old wand, it wasn't like he'd have any need of it in Azkaban."_

Some distance away, the silver glow of Albus' phoenix patronus had been visible, and he had known that Albus was summoning the International Auror Corps.

_For some reason I can't explain  
__Once you know there was never, never an honest word  
__That was when I ruled the world _

Glancing around his cell, Gellert crossed to a corner where over months and years he had carved out his thoughts, or at least enough of them to keep him near sane. In the fading light, he could barely make out his first attempt at writing Albus. The words were harsh, accusatory.

He had given up on hating Albus shortly after.

_It was the wicked and wild wind  
__Blew down the doors to let me in  
__Shattered windows and the sound of drums  
__People couldn't believe what I'd become_

He couldn't remember the moment when his goals had changed. In the early 1920s, he had finally abandoned his quest for the Hallows in favor of more achievable goals. He had first expanded his control of Europe shortly after that Muggle Mussolini had taken over Italy. Muggle upheaval had weakened the magical government, but they had still put up a fight. That had been the first time Gellert Grindelwald had unequivocally killed a man.

It was a foolish idea, that he realized now. His goal had been to protect the Wizarding community from the threat of Muggle violence and problems, but he had wound up benefiting from it instead. Still, he had not felt at the time that he was violating his principles.

No, that had not come until much later.

Even his alliance with Hitler had seemed proper at the time. Hitler had no magical ability of his own, but was very familiar with the magical world. No one else had ever learned this, but Hitler had evidently been a Squib. He had sought out Grindelwald looking for a reading of his political fortunes. The forboding evident in the Tarot reading had frightened and angered the man.

It had only been an offer of a political deal that had finally calmed Hitler. Grindelwald, leader of the Deutsche Free Magical State, had agreed to protect Hitler's regime whenever necessary in return for Hitler's promise of providing new territory in which to expand his Wizarding regime.

As the Muggle war had dragged on, however, The Greater Good had begun to seem more and more like whatever was politically necessary. Those who were outside of the regime had begun to be horrified by the atrocities committed.

Still, he felt even now that his atrocities had paled in comparison to those of the Squib's. His prisoners were solely political. He could understand the need to control public opinion. But Hitler's other prisoners…

He had visited Auschwitz one time, as a part of their alliance. What he had seen had horrified him, even at the height of his own madness. The condition in which Hitler kept his prisoners, just because of religion, had been bad enough. And he was killing them. It was such a waste. Better to re-educate them, mold them in the shape of the empire. But then he had had to mention the others.

In truth, Gellert had asked for it. He had noticed the occasional differently colored patch, and hand inquired as to their meanings. He had never expected to be told that he belonged in the camps.

Of course, Hitler had never told him that to his face. Hitler hadn't known enough to do that. But he had known himself that he would be no different… he and Albus would have been no different from the men in front of him, in Hitler's eyes. To the Squib, magic held none of the special status that it held in Gellert's mind, that he thought it should have held everywhere.

After that, he had perhaps not fought so hard to defend his Muggle ally as he should have, or even to defend his own regime. He had been disillusioned.

_Revolutionaries wait  
__For my head on a silver plate  
__Just a puppet on a lonely string  
__Oh who would ever want to be king? _

No one else had known that though. He recalled clearly being dragged before a hastily organized session of the International Confedaration of Wizards. Their Subcommittee of Justice was to mete out his punishment.

He had stood before them, almost certain he would be put to death. He had known the same thing was happening to far less powerful individuals among his Muggle allies. And indeed for the longest time, it had seemed like that was surely going to happen.

His crimes had sounded so much larger when they were read out loud.

Shortly before he had been due to be sentenced, Albus had come. He had been still a rather junior member then, but his role in the matter meant that the older members had afforded him a great deal of respect.

Albus had begun his speech "My friends…" Gellert could no longer remember the rest of Albus' speech in words, but he could recall the main meaning.

Yes, Albus had agreed with them, Grindelwald's crimes had been horrible. He had wanted to debate them on that point, but a still-in-place Silencing Charm had prevented him. As well, the Confederation had seemed intent on placing the blame for Hitler's crimes squarely on his head.

But, Albus had not wanted Gellert dead. He argued that to kill him would be to resort to the same sort of violence that had just been ended. Albus had argued instead for life imprisonment, in his own prison. Only by experiencing the sufferings he had inflicted on others could there ever be repentance.

Gellert had not understood what Albus had been talking about then. What was so horribly cruel about his prisons? And the thought of repentance left a sour taste in his mouth. Repentance, he had thought was for the weak and religious. Religion was another thing he had hated; an action was an action, nothing more, and nothing less.

The Confederation had been convinced however, and it had been agreed that Grindelwald would serve out the rest of his life in the heavily fortified tower cell that had once been reserved for his most prominent prisoners.

_I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing  
__Roman Cavalry choirs are singing  
__Be my mirror my sword and shield  
__My missionaries in a foreign field  
__For some reason I can't explain  
__I know Saint Peter won't call my name  
__Never an honest word  
__But that was when I ruled the world _

As the guards dragged him away, Gellert had attempted to look Albus in the eyes. Albus had turned away.

It was then that he had truly known it was over. There was nothing more to say—they had nothing in common at all.

Albus had visited occasionally, mainly to ensure that the wards were still holding, and that Gellert was not trying to break out (he never had been, there was no _purpose_ to it). Only rarely had he visited Gellert personally. The visits were mostly silent; there was nothing more to say.

Albus had mentioned political events in England sometimes, especially after Lord So-and-so started gaining power. He had never truly bothered learning the man's name, as Albus had always referred to him simply as Tom. Gellert never showed any reaction—the events in England were irrelevant to him. When Albus was leaving, Gellert could have sworn he had heard a faint sigh of something he could not place.

It was only in the spring of 1997, over a year after Albus' last visit that he learned the British wizard's name. Voldemort. That was the name of the man the papers said had been the mastermind behind the murder of Albus Dumbledore.

_I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing  
__Roman Cavalry choirs are singing  
__Be my mirror my sword and shield  
__My missionaries in a foreign field _

It was several hours past nightfall now, but Gellert could not sleep, for whatever reason. He rose again and went to the window. The night seemed peaceful and calm, at least at first.

Suddenly, he heard the unmistakable 'pops' of Apparition. The ensuing scuffle only served to confirm his earlier suspicions. They had come. The same people that had killed Albus were coming for him.

There was only one reason they would come here. Voldemort wanted the Elder Wand. In that instant, Gellert knew what Albus had wanted of him. This young upstart fancied himself the next Wizarding ruler. Under different circumstances, Gellert might have cheered him. But his ideas were all _wrong_. Instead of seeking to protect wizards from the evils of the Muggle world, he sought to eliminate all magic that did not arise from a longstanding Wizarding heritage. The idea frightened Gellert, reminded him of his onetime ally's desire for a completely pure race. This man had taken everything Gellert had stood for and was corrupting it, twisting it until no one would ever understand the great ideals there had been at the start.

There was little he could do to stop him. Years of imprisonment without contact with the magical world in any form had left him frail and nearly, if not completely powerless. But he knew Albus would have made plans to secure the Elder Wand. He had always deplored the wand's violent past, something which Gellert had never fully understood. Even if it would have no lasting effect, he must protect Albus in any way he could.

He lay back down, trying to think. Soon after, he felt a cold breeze and heard a soft thump. Looking up, he saw the man—no, a creature now—Voldemort, and smiled. Here was his chance. He laughed in the face of his killer.

"So, you have come. I though you would … one day. But your journey was pointless. I never had it…"

_For some reason I can't explain  
__I know Saint Peter will call my name  
__Never an honest word__  
But that was when I ruled the world _

As Voldemort raised his wand to deliver the fatal curse, Gellert closed his eyes, allowing his mind to wander to an image of Albus, as he had been when they were young, idealistic, and in love.

When the green light faded, Gellert was still smiling.


End file.
